The fashion world is like a giant broken toilet,

The magnificent Irony as it once was in the ancient world

full of crap that spins around and around; it looks bright and pastel-y in the spring, more brown and excrement-like in the fall.  But seriously, remember the days when what you wore meant something? Remember the french revolution, when wearing pantaloons instead of breeches meant you were more likely to donate your head to the guillotine basket? I certainly don’t. But maybe you remember those days when putting studs on your leather Ramones jacket was the same thing as saying “Fuck you” to anyone who didn’t think “What a badass!” when you walked by? I don’t remember those days either. But the point is, the days when wearing certain styles to evoke a reaction or say something about yourself are over.

Irony as it exists today, a hideous shadow of its former glory

Irony. That pervasive little culprit. Irony has indeed changed from its high pedestal as a mainstay in classical prose and poetry. A longtime ago, irony meant that we knew Oedipus was making whoopee with his mom, but Oedipus kept right on going, just because it was ironic. That was hard-to-the-core. Props Oed. It’s distressing what passes for irony in the modern era. A kid in a t-shirt representing a band or product or TV show that everyone knows sucks. Drinking poor-quality beer and “ironically” declaring that it tastes good. Pre-1890 facial hair. It seems the meaning of this word has morphed from “a legitimate, tension-creating poetic device” to “anything that is out of place, but the person who put it there knows it’s out of place, so it’s ironic”.

Not as ironic as we'd all hoped

This is irony by today's standards

Total lack of irony

Come to think of it, not everything that’s out of place is ironic. Like a white guy in black guy clothes. Not ironic because of the latter part of the definition “the person who put it there knows it’s out of place”.

I digress.  Back to fashion.   Nothing we wear means anything anymore.  Because of irony, anything goes.  Anyone can be “fashionable”,  just follow these steps:

• Put a bunch of clothes in a big huge basket (The real first step is “procure a big huge basket”)
• Blindfolded, take four or five gulps of the finest quality bum wine
• Spin around until you throw up
• Throw up (not in your big-huge basket)
• Now you’re ready to make fashion history: Take out random articles of  clothing as haphazardly as possible
• Put them on like you usually do
• Find someone to take your picture and/or blog about how cool you are

HAHAHA Awesome (image courtesy of Vice Magazine)

Sure, the first time you “discover” your innate ability to pick out things at random, you’re not going to be very good at it - you will end up looking like this:

So, What do you do?  You don’t want to look like someone who attends art school, but you also want to be fashionable.  The solution is simple.  Only place a certain genre of clothes in your big huge basket.  This is the secret that all the major stereotypes utilize to achieve their signature looks.

Certain types will place only tee-shirts, belts and jeans into the basket.  Others will take away the jeans, add some high-waisted woolen pants, a few scarves and a bag of costume jewelry.  The males among the fashion-conscious may toss some sweatshirts into the mix, making sure the arms are cut off, then stir in some skinny pants and a mustache or two.  Some more bold weirdos just throw in swatches of black fabric and a strange hair style, like:

“Daddy, is this a modern art sculpture?” “No, son it’s jut a weirdo” “Can I touch it?” “No, you have to stay behind the velvet rope”

The “Work Of Art”:

“Bone-dry are the annals of time, figurative are the meals of worms in this prosaic poem I read you now from the bone-dry annals of mind-space - can you fathom that?  I will stare at you from my mind-space until you walk away…”

"The time vortex around him radiates awkwardium, which mutates healthy conversation into jabering about hair gel"

T’row-Ba’k Dude

“Have you heard of every decade for the past 40 years?  I’ve got it all.  I got caps of 60s, tabs of ‘68, I got pure columbian ‘76, uncut.  I got gels and bottles of ‘83, you know, the good stuff.  Dude, this kinda quality is gonna cost you like 80 maybe 90 trips to the thrift store.  Dude could you front me some cash, I’ve been gankin’ my own stash.  Come on.  Here’ have this rock of ‘94.  It’s good shit, on the house.  You know you want it.”

“Is she from the space, or art school?”

Space Girl!!!

“Take me to your leader!  No seriously, I want to see him right away.  I have to administer this serum that will make him under my controls.  It’s right here, in one of my compartments on my sleeves.  Yes, I’m from space.  No, I can’t take you with me.  No, you can’t touch my sleeves.

"The order of the Golden Rose,the most powerful Oeuth-Guild of Futurespace"

Time-Traveling Future/Past Assassin

“I have lived many of your earth lifetimes in my travels throughout the continuum.  We on Oeuth travel throughout time and space, living amongst the natives until the time is right for assassinship, a craft at which we are quite skilled.  The last sound you hear will be a high-pitched squeal as I squeal at you.  SQUEEEEEEL!”

"How to deal with a kitten encounter: make lots of noise and puff out your clothes and make yourself look big"

The Fiercest Kitten in the Jungle

Often found in well-manicured trees, the fabled fierce kitten of Williamsburg is indeed a fierce predator.  Even wiith an ample coat of American Apparrel, the beast is prepared for any dive-bar climate.  Be advised: she considers her PBR her children, and will go to great lengths to protect them.

WTF?

Nu-Nu-Retro-Punk-Core

This is the epitome of ironic fashion.  It doesn’t mean anything.  It this a boy or a girl?  Is he trying to say anything with his “look”?  Could it be “I look like a dork, but it’s on purpose, so it’s okay”?   He’s taken pieces from every counter-cultural movement and placed them on his body in the most unflattering way possible.  Then he stares at you like “what? I can wear what I want”.  Yes, you can, but meaning has not been lost, even when worn with a specifically ironic attitude, like our friend Toad here.  He has all the bells and whistles of a passionate, counter-cultural icon, but he lacks the passion and the conviction that made them great.

Is that the goal of this new irony - to marginalize the emotions of emotional beings by parodying them unto meaninglessness?  And what does that say about the person behind all this ironic, “good-natured” ridicule?  Perhaps they believe that all the stuff previous generations thought and felt was meaningless.   Yet somehow, in discovering this, wisdom and peace were not found, but instead some kind of emptiness that goes along with representing something and making fun of it at the same time.  In the words of Walter Sobchak, “Say what you want about the tenets of national socialism, at least it’s an ethos.”

I had just finished all my reading bullshit for class. and i was nice and sleeping. and i hear BAMB. and then i heard people laughing so i thought maybe it was just drunk people. but then BAMB again. and it started smelling really gross. so i looked out my window in my room which faces the back of the building and there was this huge blazing fire. so i go to the front window and theres another huge blazing fire. and i started freaking out. i thought our building was on fire. i woke up my roommate and we dont know what to do. until people knocked on our door and said we had to go to the next building over where the head of the program guy lives. so we grab ‘important things’ which once i had reason back was just ridiculous things. and go over and sit in this little room with everyone in the program. and everrrryone is freaking out. oh and wearing pants. yeah. i wasnt.

then the guy thats the head comes in & is like “well. it happens. get used to it”
it was hella scary. apparently some anarchist protesting capitalism by setting off car bombs in expensive cars. except one was an suv? i didnt know that was considered all that important. then again seems only douches drive suvs, so i can understand.

now its 4:31. and i am sitting in my bed drinking wine. cuz i for sure can not go back to bed. it was hella scary. and smelly

-jfrank

Here is what i know: art school.
because for the past two years i have lived through it.
so ridiculous. awfully ridiculous. full of ridiculous art kids.
i guess i would have to be placed in that same category…  but lets not talk about that.
art school has made me feel less artistic  and more of an asshole.
they teach us to appreciate high art.  I’ve had many an art history class which focuses on the difference between art as understood by people in the know as opposed to the masses.
down with the masses. all they want is kitsch. They appreciate an accurately drawn face when it has no meaning behind it. but dont understand the likes of flavin and stella. they see andy warhol as just a pop icon.
[see what i mean about being an asshole?] art is so much more interesting when conceptual.
i dont want to be an elitist. and somehow i am being pushed in that direction. NO.
thanks to art school for that.

about the people - art kids are expected to be hipsters. but i think theres a definate line between the two. at least in my experience.
although..
being an artist seems like the new hip thing to do. everyone thinks they are an artists — but its different than outsider art. hipsters just talk alot about being artists and don’t act upon it. kids in art school do nothing but act upon it. to extremes. annoyingly so. like theres nothing else in the world.
go away.
_________________________________________________________________________

a bit of my personal experience:
i was in video art. i made videos that i thought were really exciting. like this:

but i was told that it was too happy and therefore rendered meaningless.

this received the comment “you need to be more narcissistic”.great.

art school = mass ridiculousness.
one girl told me my videos didnt look like what she imagined art to look like. this was probably the best compliment i received, even though she didnt mean it that way.
I dont want to be a carbon copy of every other artist.
so finally after about 10ish videos i got fed up. and made a video of how annoyed i was with the video art program. which you can see here, if you like:

and everyone loved that one.
how ironic.
how art school.

im in graphic design now. which i was always more interested in anyway. and which is all about the masses. no elitism here. just spreading info through great visuals. [ http://highpeoplemagic.com/jennyfrank ]

-jFrank

The one and only Rainbo Video

Mysterious yet unfailingly courteous and prompt, burgeoning yet completely professional, Chicago born and based Rainbo Video excels at exuding excellent beats and champions  tongue-in-cheek yet thoughtful film shorts. One such short, “Colors”, silences a crowd with a masterful and eye-popping take on the pesky colorful stripes a malfunctioning television displays. Playful text appears over a seizure-inducing background of strobing stripes, entrancing all who watch, while Rainbo mixes orgasmic beats, synced live to the videos. The entire Rainbo Video show is an audio/visual delight- intelligent, fun, and all around awesome. The music is dance-fresh, the video is eye-poppalicious - all he needs now is some lingering scent to complete the experience.  Genially, RV granted Annette from HPM an interview, which sheds light on frissons, footage, and random tidbits of the man behind RV…

HPM: You use a lot of samples - how do you decide which samples will work with a song?

RV: I’m really interested in moments of “pop bliss,” those tiny fragments in a song where the melody or harmony is so enjoyable that it induces a euphoric feeling, a frisson.  So when I’m sampling, I basically focus on extracting those moments and meditating on them through repetition or various transformations.  I typically start with fragments and then fit them into whatever rhythmic grid I’m interested in at the time.  ”Xenoglossy 44″ is good example of all that.

HPM: A “frisson,” how well put! Do you identify a moment like that immediately when you hear it?

RV: Definitely!  It’s not some sort of intellectualized value judgment; it’s an immediate gut reaction.  As soon as I hear something like that, I know I like it, and I want to hear it over and over and over again, both because it’s pleasurable, and because I want to figure out why it works so well.

HPM: Interesting, do you ever feel pressured to entertain the audience with more than just frissons? Is that pressure the impetus to creating video art or is it an independent desire that you’ve managed to sync with your music?

RV: My formal background is in filmmaking and film studies, specifically avant-garde cinema.  So I’ve been making films for awhile and have always been looking to find some sort of harmony between that and my music.  My music has always been pretty fun and irreverent, whereas my films, for the most part, have tended to be serious formalist work.

Over the past couple of years, though, the spirit of my music has started to influence my filmmaking, and for the better.  While I still like my early films for what they are, I think combining an “experimental” sensibility with a pop/humor sensibility is most effective.  It offers a much more rich experience for the viewer, so they’re neither enduring some overlong, impenetrable “study in ______,” nor just mindlessly laughing at YouTube videos.  Personally, I enjoy both extremes equally, but I think integrating the two is more engaging - it asks that you watch actively, while still offering up something pleasurable.

So in that way, I think I am interested in creating an entertaining experience.  And watching a film during my performance is much more entertaining than watching me stand behind a laptop and push buttons.

HPM: In your creative process, which do you begin with first, a song or a video? How do you pair them?

RV: My current live performance is really the first time I’ve integrated music + video on a large scale.  I did a preview “trailer” awhile back that had excerpts from several of my films edited to the track “Colors,” but it wasn’t really meant to stand on its own as a true integration.

I made this current performance by first performing a live set and recording the audio.  I then took that and edited brand new video material to precisely interact with the music.  What results is a locked, silent video, which serves as the master timeline. That’s what’s being projected during the performance.  Then, each show consists of me trying to perform the music in synch with the video.  It’s really a kind of test - I have to do a lot to make it work correctly. There’s still room for improvisation, though, so it’s possible to have a performance that’s better and more interesting than the original.

HPM: Do you shoot your own footage, or do you use found footage?  Where do you find footage?

RV: Both, though for the past couple of years I’ve mainly used found footage.  I usually gather it from VHS tapes I’ve collected over the years.  For me, the disparity between the sampled content is important.  I intentionally choose content that is unrelated, and then make a kind of game out of constructing the connections.  I’ll definitely be shooting more original material, though, with a focus on employing different methods of 3-D.

HPM: What would be your ideal venue at which to play a show and who would open for you?

RV: Someday I would love to play Pritzker Pavilion at night, with a massive, 50 foot projection.  With the direction I’m taking my shows, they’ll eventually seem as natural being performed there, for hundreds of people - even families - as in an art gallery or a microcinema for fifteen people.  That kind of universality sounds unreasonable, but it’s absolutely possible.

You can catch Rainbo Video on Tour from July 24th, for the latest information check out his myspace: http://www.myspace.com/rainbovideo

For more information on Rainbo Video check out his website: http://rainbovideo.com/ and his music blog: http://www.videopopmusic.com/

Download a zip file of 5 songs here: http://rainbovideo.com/music/Rainbo_Video_320kbps.zip

"wait, no, I'm not ready" -- "Eat green apple-colored Jello, you slag!"

what do artsy people do with jello?

They certainly don’t get half-naked and wrestle in it. unless they are really artsy

I had no idea these were real. Right out of the Monster Manual volume 4!!! You have no idea what I am talking about!!!

Page 54! Look at that level 1 warrior struggling. Even I could destroy a gelatinous cube.

Thriller!!! Billy Jean!!! Little Kids!!!

Tubular!!!

Death!!! I'm loving it!

They are all dead!

No, but they have other things in common too, like being famous. And being American. And Human. They probably all had pubic hair too.

[or birthday, for those unbeeveducated among us]
to Kieran, co-founder of hpm.
i think that a good way to celebrate is for everyone who may read this to buy something from the hpm store.
good idea, no?

The One and Only Toad Cruise

Once upon a time there was a toad named Toad Cruise. He had medium-short, side/wind swept brown hair and wore aviator sunglasses. Toad was an actor but most importantly an approachable bro. He grew up in the country. Our country.

When he was just a youngster, with his tail still attached and everything, an evil farmer named Crik gigged his parents and fried them for breakfast in a cast iron skillet. Crik fried Toad’s parents in garlic butter until they were crisp and savoury. From that point on, Toad Cruises life would never be the same again.

Toad left Our Country and moved to the Big City where he pursued the Universal Dream of Success and Fame. When he moved to the Big City, he had goals of becoming a stud a la Midnight Cowboy, but much like Jon Voight, Toad’s naivete got the better of him and he was soon penniless and living in a sewer grate.

Toad got horribly ill with gout and flu, and as poor and penniless as his was, he decided that the only viable option was to cut his losses and off himself. He was about to hop in front of a car when he saw it…the puppet bike. If you have never seen a puppet bike before, feh on you. Toad Cruise gazed at the puppet bike with astonishment and his little froggy heart filled with joy. Up to the puppet bike he jumped, right onto the stage where the puppets were performing! Toad Cruise joined into the puppet performance with such animated gusto that a large crowd amassed in front of the puppet bike. From that point on, Toad’s success skyrocketed. He became known for his excellent dramatic performances and his hilariously on-point comic timing.

This is Crik. Toad's parents are among those dead frogs in the back of Crik's truck

A few years past and Toad, once kindly and approachable, became jaded. He would throw tantrums and dabble in cults and have extensive, Mariah Carey-like lists of demands. On a cross-country promo tour for his latest blockbuster hit, he verbally insulted his personal assistant so badly that she had a nervous breakdown and downed a bottle of pepto bismal and snorted 5 lines of talcum powder. In her chemical-induced rage, she threw poor Toad out of the RV window. Toad landed in the soft country grass and bounced away, completely shocked and discombobulated.

He hopped for what seemed like days but was actually hours. Usually, he would have a small snack of every half hour and would be misted with purified Tahitian geyser water every 15 minutes. Unmisted and slightly hungry, Toad Cruise bounced right into a Big Ole Beave.

This was no ordinary Beave, but the leader of a prestigious tribe of USDA certified Organic Angus Beaves. The Beave stomped her foot, almost squishing Toad. Blindly panicking and hopping frenetically, Toad tripped over a dandelion, landed flat on his little froggy butt, and passed out. When he came to, he was surrounded by a three large Beaves gazing curiously at him.

“What should we do with him?” said Sterf, the gingery Beave.

“Eat him, of course!” replied Qwerm, the large and twitchy eyed Beave.

“No, he is just a mere lost frog. We will help him return from whence he came. And besides, he lacks meatiness,” spoke the biggest and wisest Beave, the Beave Leader, Bovariana.

Thus was Toad’s fate decided. When he awoke the next morning, he was curled into the Bovariana’s nape.

Bovariana and Toad Cruise cuddling and giggling among the sweet grass.

Quivering slightly, Toad opened his mouth to begin barraging Bovariana with questions. But before he could start, Bovariana spoke reassuringly,

“Small frog, lost and scared you appeared amongst our flock of beaves. Your fate was sealed last night when I and the other elder beaves held council. We will help you return to your home.”

Toad was overjoyed! He and the beaves began a steady march towards the nearest city. On the way, however, the scent of the fresh Country air, filled with buzzing bees, pollinating flowers, raw manure, and the heaving scent of the beaves, revived and reinvigorated Toad’s senses better than all the Kombucha and Kabbalah he had been doing back in the Big City. As the bevy of Beave and Toad got nearer and nearer, the less inclined was Toad to return to his fame and fortune.

Upon the eve of his triumphant return to the city, Bovariana and Toad were sharing a mushroom for dinner when a red hatchback Saab zoomed past them. The Saab halted and backed up ferociously. Bovariana and Toad furtively gazed upon a young, quite disheveled and exhausted looking woman hopped out of the car and sprinted towards them.

“Oh my!” exclaimed Toad, “that’s my old personal assistant!”

Bovariana, who had heard stories of the girls madness, lumbered up to defend Toad.

“Toadie! Oh Toadie Baby! Am I relieved to see you! Ya see, I was just driving out to look for ya! I been lookin for ya ever since our little run in in the RV! Ya see, they, back there in the Big City, think I did you in! They think I was going to take your money and replace you with this frog I got at the pet store! Let’s get you back to the Manse de Cruise, I bet you haven’t been misted in days! Then you can tell those damn detectives that I didn’t kill ya!” did the girl breathily exclaim.

“I’ll take it from here, Bovariana,” said Toad, sauntering over to the girl. “You threw me out of a car, you dumb bitch! I’m not going anywhere with you! Definitely not back to the city. I’m staying here, in nature, where I belong. You see, I’m a just a simple-minded Cruise. I’m not meant for city life, it makes my skin break out into horrible warts. Cruises are meant to be here, in the beautiful meadows and friendly swamps, living with beaves. From this day forth, I pledge myself to this beautiful and benevolent Beave, Bovariana.”

The crazy assistant tried to lunge at the Toad, but Bovariana, so touched by Toad’s words and enraged that someone would try to harm such a sweet creature, took a bite out of the personal assistant. And then another one. And then another one. Then the other beaves came and ate the rest of the girl while Toad Cruise suckled upon Bovariana’s teet.

Gaaay!

All this of course takes place in just under 1 moment. Now apply this same scenario to a two-hour-long movie. A strange experience to say the least.

Spock is Gay

Well, getting to meat of the matter, Spock is gay. Now I’m not talking the kind of gay where you have a lot of butt-sex and sport assless chaps and a mustache made out of the condom you will end up not using, no.  This is the kind of gay where you really like musicals shopping on the weekend and brunch.  The lisp, the high-pitched voice and the anal retentiveness, not to mention the stylish haircut do not lend themselves to the logical, non-gay Vulcans  Yes, I know Spock and the African ear-girl are hot and heavy and he might not be actually homosexual, but Spock is totally gay.

A few afterthoughts

The villain: Lame.  Lame and troubled and overly dramatic like all the other star-trek villains.  Time paradoxes rarely work in a movie, and this is no exception.  Predatory alien animals are not as retarded as that big red thing on the ice planet - there would be no roaring then eating.  There would only be eating.

Also, there is this:

_kieran

does anyone like pulp?
this is a call to all of those who believe pulp is a valid object in this world,
either as a food product
a section of a drink
or a stand alone identity.
i would like to hear a good argument for pulp.
one that doesn’t mention how its exactly like sandy water
or salt water
or like drinking from a fish tank.

pulp. noun. the soft, juicy, edible part of a fruit.
barf. verb. induced by pulp.

octopus. noun. raw, boiled and pickled, sautéed, deep-fried or for more mature specimens, simmered or boiled for several hours. delicious.

-jfrank

everyday another person fights their way though europe
searching for treasure or lost feet
maybe one day theyll learn the truth about salmon

^that was a poem.
who invented poetry? i didnt. and yet somehow i can still write a great poem.
somehow..
poems are so full of poetry though. its kind of sickening. 
remember when you thought poems had to rhyme? like in 2nd grade when they made us memorize that book “Alexander and the Terrible horrible no good very bad day” in between making little versions of ourselves out of paper and reporting on the weather.
oh and dr. seuss. once he died. and we had a funeral for him. i bet he apprechiated that. in some sort of rhyming way.  or maybe dead people cant rhyme.
but fish can rhyme. always. even when theyre not stuck in those six pack plastic things.
native americans probably taught bison to rhyme, right before they killed them all.
too bad. a bison may have been the first dr. seuss.
but then came shakespeare. and all those other people who wrote sonnets. i guess some of them were from italy…? i dont remember. who remembers sonnets.
sonnets have alot of rules. all of which i like to break. 
no A B A B. no quatrains. no couplets. none of the above.
I wont even get into haikus. or those poems where you write one word down the side with a letter to start each line. why is that even a thing. people abuse the expandabitliy of abbreviations. i bet “etc” doesnt approve. neither does NASA.
whos that guy that likes to organize poems really randomly? and not use punctuation? it begins with an E. ah how could i forget.. well. use your imagination.
he should maybe get into typography and out of poetry, so as to stop spreading his poetry too thin. like stretching a tiny piece of skin over a giant drum head.
i rather like having skin.

-jfrank

Name your strip club:

I needed some inspiration for a strip club name and lo and behold the topic had already come up several times.  I found this delightfully retarded conversation among the posts:

manyhaha said:

Blue Ball Bill”s House Of Hoes

tarafara said:

blue balls, do you think alot of guys will go there……..lol

DaveMcBrayer said:

No, I wouldnt because that means there is no private room.

tarafara said:

maybe they do have a private room, but you’re not allowed to “finish”

manyhaha said:

It’s a misnomer to keep the cops away

Thus ends one of the most glorious moment in the history of planned conversation. It was over too quick.  Funny thing is, the conversation consists of posts updated over several days.  Who said the internet is making things go faster.

_Kieran

Location: Thrift Store in Chicago’s Wicker Park

Mood: Sober

Aging Hipsters.  “why have you force-fed poverty down your throat  for so long that you must shop here in your mid-thirties?”.

Listen, You. You walk in here with your free starbucks water. You walk around for 2 minutes and then you realize that you should be at the mall browsing the well-kempt and liver-spotty rack of Anne Taylr. Did you just want to make an appearance? Here’s 2 crederettes, now please leave me and the poor minorities alone.

This is what you look like. Only female.

Guess what the iron represents.

_kieran

I have never seen Terminator or any of its incarnations, which is why I am the #1 best person to Review the latest box office sum-sum hit—Terminator::::Salvation:::Explosionz.

So there’s this guy, right? His name is Jon Conr or some shit like that and he gets cryogenically frozen a la Austin Powers in the the original or Fry from Futurama, except he gets frozed back up in the 80s so he’s all trendy looking and what not. Back in the 80s he was balls-out fighting this badass war against the secret machines [not the band] that were becoming/impersonating people (kind of like Blade Runner, minus the star power but plus a juiced-UP ahhhnold). OK so Jon Conr is fighting and ahhhnold makes a big explosion (aka BoomBoom) and Conr gets all burned so they (they=Sara Conr, has her own FOX show) put aloe on him but he’s all like “oww!!!” so they put him in a box of ice but the box is super cold and he accidently freezes, and their all like “eh he was kind of annoying.” And so they put the box in the root cellar of their grandma’s cabinet out in Nevada.

20 years later, JConr wakes up and he’s all disorientated, like what year are we in??Some industrious youth/grease monkey says “2018, of course. I love your 80s style, were you inspired by the Milan runway??” and then they have one of the money sex scenes. When they’re all done and pillow talking in bed, JConz discovers that the robotz are still running rampant so he decides to renew his 80s mission of destroying robots. Flash to the machines::: they are rounding up humans concentration camp style and destroying them. Flash back to JConz::: he sets out to destroy the robots with his crack time of young grease monkey who cleans up nice, fierce asian girl, tech guy, and the other one. Then he runs into his 80s arch nemesis, Some Dude, who is running from machines. Fighting words are exchanged but their bond of humanity unites them on a deeper level. Together they go and take down the robot powers that be, all badass like. Explosions! Explosions! Explosions! Our heroes come upon one of the robot factories, there’s a human concentration-type camp set up next door. They bust in trying to rescue the humans, only to discover that the robots make other robots out of LIVE [compressed] HUMANS!!!! Robots is people!!!!!!

Fin

-AR

Step 1:  Assemble a ‘Crack Team’

-And a theme for that team.  Everything needs a theme.  For mine, I have chosen a ragtag assembly of mis-fit ladies whom I call the “Sass Branch”. They will be led by a two-bit hustler named ‘Jones’ who sends them away on my missions only to be lonely himself.  They will be renowned for their sass in situations of uncertainty.

First on my doom-roster: Baby.  Baby needs and baby takes.  Baby likes to hold on to your shoulder with his teeth and not let go when you go to the store.  Oh well.  It was totally worth it.

Sass-afrass.  This southern-belle is equally likely to open-up to you about how much she enjoyed how you took her to the debutante ball as she is to rake your skin off with her metal-tipped razor appendage hidden under her dress.  She’s a belle.  “Hi mister Franken-bot.  I see you like… electricity.  What’s that?  I shouldn’t touch it?  Now why would I do a thing like that, mister franken-bot?  Boom-Kapash!  You’ve just been razor-appendaged in half!!! How does it feel to be in two places at once?  at least now you can… multi-task!!!”

Sassparrilla.  She’s from the west.  The deep west.  Not the wild west.  The one where they exiled all the Indians to.  The bad one.  Her power is that she can make anyone, including herself, vomit on command.  An unexplained side-effect of this, however, is that whenever she walks into a room she yells her motto so as to warn of her approach.  Sass: “Yeah you go and vomit then, Richard.  I gotta go clean up the pork anyway.  You wanna get snuggly later, big cow-man?  I was-ain’t askin, you freak of nature - Kiss me!”  By the way, her life-partner is half-bison.  Some experiments you fall in love with, while the more quivering, formless ones you throw in your neighbor’s recycling bin and snicker.

SassQuatch.  Meet SassQuatch.  She is our brains and sensory apparatus.  She feels good all the time due to her morphine addiction.  It doesn’t knock out the sass, though, “Please, I’m working.  I’ve isolated a sassotope of the sassium atom, as yet unsasscovered by man.  Wont you go take a rubiks cube and drastically alter the input size of one of your orifaces, preferably one below your left humorus please thank you.”

The doctor, always passionately insensed in the crotch by such outbursts, touched SassQuatch’s shoulder the next day after lunch.  She replied, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you are hitting on me, doctor penis, I mean Phallis.  Highly inappropriate for a laboratory.”

Wow.  It’s late. See you tomorrow, happys

_κieran.

do you want to have a vague conversation?
lets agree to disagree.
do you want to have a vague conversation?
just say it already.
well. 
its more random that you have a brother.
its okay, neither do I. 
do you want to have a vague conversation?
that was too confusing.
lets be more vague instead. 

-JF